


Energy

by yeaka



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, Vampires, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-12
Updated: 2020-01-12
Packaged: 2021-02-27 04:00:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22220692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Connor needs blood to function.
Relationships: Hank Anderson/Connor
Comments: 4
Kudos: 68





	Energy

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own Detroit: Become Human or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

Hank’s halfway out of the car before he realizes that Connor’s not moving. _At all_. His beautiful brown eyes are staring blankly through the windshield, shoulders rigid and body facing forward. It looks like Connor has no intention of getting out of the car, which is a red flag, because Connor goes almost _everywhere_ that Hank does. 

Hank drops back into the driver’s seat and pulls the door closed with him, because if it’s what he thinks it is, they’ll need privacy. It’s dark enough outside and the street’s empty enough that there aren’t many people around, but a few other cops are milling about the front of the house, waiting for Hank arrive. Hank asks, “Are you coming?”

“I’ll wait here,” Connor answers. Other than his jaw, his face doesn’t move. Another red flag. When Hank makes no move to go, Connor adds, “I’m running in low power mode.”

Hank’s skull lulls back against his headrest. He lets out a long sigh, which Connor must correctly interpret, because he says, “There’s no need to feed me, Lieutenant. I have packs left at the precinct I can use when we return.”

“I’m not going to wait that long,” Hank grumbles. “I need your help inside.”

The only nice thing about ‘low power mode’ is that it leaves Connor no processing power for his sassy algorithms. He doesn’t give Hank a hard time about admitting how valuable Connor is. Even though Hank doesn’t say it much, they both know it—Connor finds things Hank misses. He’s a valuable asset to the team, and Hank’s gotten too used to working with him. Hank starts unbuttoning his shirt and orders, “Do it, Connor.”

Connor’s lips part ever so slightly. He doesn’t breathe a word, but it’s enough to see a flash of pearly white between his plush pink lips. His fangs must have extended. Hank knows their practical purpose and still finds them so _strange_. He can’t imagine how CyberLife ever thought up androids fueled by _human blood_. The idea’s disgusting. No wonder people hate androids. 

But Hank’s had Connor long enough now to know that Connor’s _worth it_ , so he wrenches his collar aside and tilts his head away. He can feel Connor’s eyes all over him. 

Connor quietly says, “I shouldn’t.”

“Connor...

“I don’t want to bother you, Lieutenant.”

Hank finally snaps, “Just do it.” When he puts his foot down like that, Connor usually gives in.

Sure enough, Connor murmurs, “I’m sorry.” Then he leans across the small space, one hand landing in Hank’s lap, steadying him, and the little squeeze Connor gives is vaguely reassuring. Hank tries to breathe slower, calmer, but the anticipation prevents that. Out the corner of his eye, he watches Connor descend on him, pretty mouth stretching wide. 

Connor closes over him and bites down. The puncture wounds are tiny compared to the width of Connor’s mouth. Hank tenses anyway. His fists dig into his knees, body almost trembling, but Connor pets his inner thigh as though to soothe him. Connor gives a little suck and gently draws out his blood. Hank can feel it rushing to that one spot, gushing up into Connor’s waiting mouth. He can feel Connor suckling at his skin and swallowing around him. It’s a bizarre, prickly, _sensual_ sensation that always leaves Hank dizzy. It’s all contradictions. Connor’s teeth are razor-sharp, but his lips are so _soft_ , and he drinks Hank down with such tender care. When he’s finally done, he pulls out just enough to make Hank shiver and grunt. Then his tongue laps over the wound, the special compound in his saliva stitching the skin right back together.

Hank’s good as new by the time Connor’s finished, though he knows the marks will take a few hours to fade. It’s worth that. Connor sits back and licks his lips, catching all the residue, making his mouth shimmer and drawing Hank’s eyes. Connor’s so strangely _adorable_ when he’s like this—desperate for Hank’s help, dependant on Hank’s very lifeblood, yet so handsome and powerful. A plethora of things that shouldn’t be attractive but are. Maybe Hank’s just sick. 

Connor visibly shivers and rasps almost drunkenly, “I love the way you taste, Lieutenant.”

A final red flag. Androids shouldn’t _love_ anything. Hank doesn’t say anything about it. 

He pretends he doesn’t love it just as much. He mutters, “Yeah, yeah,” and leaves.


End file.
